No Woman Am I
by Glosswen
Summary: What if Éowyn had not just disgused as a man to ride to war, but had identified as male, and continued to do so after killing the ringwraith? How would Faramir have reacted?
1. Chapter 1

"You fool! No man can kill me!"

The Witch-King of Angmar prepared to deliver the killing blow, but in this bleakest hour, the halfling came to Dernhelm's aid, stabbing the monster in the knee with his small blade.

No man. Yet Dernhelm was a man. Should he just let the dwimmerlaik win? No! He staggered to his feet. "I will try." With that, he drove his sword into the creature's face, or where the face would be in a living man.

When he came to himself, his brother Éomer was there, and confirmed his fear; Theoden King has fallen.

"What about the dwimmerlaik? Is it ...?"

"Dead, slain by the holbytla."

"Hobbit", Dernhelm corrected.

"Alright. Hobbit, then. It seems not being, strictly speaking, a member of mankind, he was able to do what the creature said no man could do."

"That is a relief." Of course. Merry had dealth the killing blow. It could not have been otherwise.

"My brother ..." Éomer spoke in a whisper. "I must ask you to maintain the pretense that you are a woman, as long as you are in the Houses of Healing, or at least as long as your arm is not healed. They would not understand."

Dernhelm closed his eyes. "You know I loathe to be called a lady. Do you not remember that Wormtongue did so?" And even speaking the name left a bad taste in Dernhelm's mouth.

"I know I ask much. Yet ... you need not speak much to anyone. Keep to yourself. You know they would not understand, and here you are in the hands of healers. They might think you out of your mind, and keep you here longer than needed for that reason."

Dernhelm had to agree. But it was with a heavy heart that he said farewell.

He tried to heed his brother's counsel, and keep to himself. Yet sitting idle was not for him, and as soon as he was enough recovered to get out of bed, he asked for clothes.

What was offered to him was, predictably, a woman's dress. How demeaning to a Rider of Rohan! But he would have to make do, pretend to himself that it was not much different from a robe, and did not wizards wear robes?

Talking to the Steward in a woman's dress would not help his case. But he had to try.

Predictably, the Warden introduced him to the Steward as Éowyn, Princess of Rohan.

Dernhelm stated his case, made it clear that he was a warrior, and would seek death in battle, now that all hope was lost.

"What would you have me do, my Lady?"

Dernhelm ground his teeth. This would not do! "Order the Warden to release me!"

With infuriating calm, the Steward stated that the host had already left. Dernhelm persisted, and finally, the Steward offered him at least the freedom to walk in the gardens. Though he did as much as demand Dernhelm's company as payment for this, claiming that it would make him feel better.

When Dernhelm asked why, and would not back off, Faramir spoke of beauty. Beauty!

"I am not one of your decorative Gondorean maidens!" No maiden at all! "I do not exist to please your eyes, Steward, and would rather stay in my room than suffer such insults!"

The Steward stumbled backwards as though Dernhelm had hit him. "I beg your forgiveness, Lady. You asked for a honest answer, and that was it. I never meant to imply that beauty should be your purpose in life."

Dernhelm turned and went back to his room.

Much to his surprise, the next morning, the women who helped him dress said that the Warden had given him permission to walk in the gardens, and that as soon as a room with a window to the east was free, he would be given it.

So perhaps the foolish Steward had not given up hope yet. Dernhelm loathed to be predictable, but in the end, his desire to at least see the sky won.

He considered asking where the Steward was, so that he could avoid the insolent man, but this would be most likely interpreted as wish to see him. And it would be mistaken for ... perhaps even for a maidenly crush!

Dernhelm well remembered how Aragorn had mistaken him for a shieldmaiden, and his admiration for a worthy warrior for ... for girlish nonsense!

So he ventured outside without inquiring after the Steward. And as bad luck would have it, the Steward was out there, gazing at the few early flowers. What a wimp!

"We will be overrun by the enemy ere these flowers wilt", Dernhelm stated. "Your arms are hale, why not grab a sword and ride to battle? The host has left, yet a lone rider may still overtake them. But I forget, you are no warrior."

The Steward froze. "I am a ranger, and the wound that brought me here was acquired in battle", he said slowly. "Yet you are right, at heart, I am not a warrior, for I love not the sword, only what it protects. You would like my brother better than me."

"Where is he, that brother of yours? Ridden to battle, I would wager, for there is no other reason why I would like him better."

"Dead", the Steward replied quietly. "Boromir is dead."

"Boromir." The name rung a bell. "I have heard of him. He fought valiantly, and his death was honourable enough. You are right, I should have liked him."

"I thought so." The Steward's voice sounded choked, as though he was crying.

"Do not mourn him, then, for he found a glorious death, while you will be slaughtered like a dog. Envy him."

"Rest assured, I do." He turned, and now Dernhelm could see that he was indeed crying like a little girl. How pathetic!

"Is it your own fate you mourn, then?"

"In part, it may be." He schooled his expression, and the tears seemed like drops of rain now. "Tell me of your deeds. I have hard that it was you who smote the witch-king of Angmar."

"I drove my sword deep into his face. What then became of him, I know not, for his foul magic then got to me."

The Steward nodded. "Was your shield-arm already broken, then?"

"It was. And had not Merry – Meriadoc, that is – attacked him, I would not have stood a chance. It might have been him who dealt the killing strike."

"Your modesty is admirable."

"I merely speak the truth."

There was a long silence after that, and at last, the Steward turned to wards the flowerbed again.

"What of your deeds? You claim to have been wounded by the same enemy as me."

Not bothering to turn around, the Steward gave a short account of a battle that Dernhelm could not imagine this delicate scholar taking part in.

"You are pulling my leg."

"It would hardly be appropriate for me to touch a lady's leg", the Steward replied drily, and Dernhelm wanted to hit him. Could he not see that Dernhelm was no lady? Moreover, had he perhaps used the wrong word in the common tongue and was now being made fun of?

"You have not mentioned the dwimmerlaik, yet."

"Patience. I shall get to that."

His report left Dernhelm no other choice but to grudgingly respect him, for no one could have made up the feelings that the Black Breath brought. This pathetic man must speak the truth, unlikely as it seemed.

As there was no other distraction to be found in the Houses of Healing, and the healers would not let him into Merry's room, Dernhelm often walked in the gardens, and more often than not met the Steward there. Out of sheer boredom, Dernhelm talked to him, and inquired the names of all the flowers. Surprisingly, the Steward knew them all.

It was cold, and though Dernhelm would not admit it, more often than not, it was the cold temperatures that made him retreat inside the houses.

One time, he could not stop his teeth from chattering.

"I would offer you my cloak, my Lady, but I fear you would not like that."

"You are right."

"I could send someone to fetch my brother's old cloak. Would you accept that?"

"It would be preferable to no cloak at all."

"Surely, some old blanket can be found, that would be fit to be used as cloak, but it would cause gossip. People would see it as insult to Rohan." He paused. "I must admit that giving you Boromir's cloak would also lead to that."

"How so?"

"It is a soldier's cloak, not befitting your station. The only garment that I could offer that would befit your station would be one that my lady mother owned, and you would never accept that."

"That is true."

"I thought so."


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, the cloak had arrived, and the women who helped Dernhelm dress added it to the other clothes.

He had already left the room when he heard the women chatter. Usually, he paid no attention to gossip, but he had heard the name "Éowyn" mentioned. So he stood and listened.

"He should have given her his mother's cloak. That was fit for a princess! I still remember it, after all those years! Her lady's maid was devastated that it hadn't been left to her in the will!"

Well, the Steward had skillfully avoided that sandtrap, Dernhelm had to give him that.

"Why part with that, for a wild shieldmaiden? She's barely civilised. No wonder he would not give a family heirloom to her, not even borrow it."

Dernhelm's hand went to his sword, which was not there. Perhaps that was as well, Éomer had advised him to stay out of trouble, and killing a stupid Gondorian girl would no doubt cause lots of trouble.

"Shieldmaiden or no, she is a princess!"

"Still. Giving her such an expensive cloak would create the impression that he is courting her. Courting her! Can you imagine?"

"Quite well, actually. Why not court her? It would stabilize the alliance with Rohan."

"Would you have our poor Lord Faramir marry a shieldmaiden, with rough hands and no bosom? Do you have no love at all for him? Surely, there is some match that is, if not better, at least as good, and does not sentence him to a marriage bed full of chainmail and calluses."

"Don't be ridiculous. He wears armour himself, and no doubt she knows as well to take it off before bed as he does."

Dernhelm left the women to their brainless gossiping and ventured outside.

There he found the Lord Faramir, deep in conversation with Merry.

"... just like a man's ... youknowwhat."

"Male member?

"Um, yes. Actually. Just like that."

Why on earth were they discussing dicks? Though it was unsurprising that the Steward used such a tame description, the man behaved like a gelding ...

"Ah, the variety of nature. There is a seashell that I have been told looks just like the female genital. Though I admit that, being unwed, I have never had the opportunity to verify that."

A gelding indeed! Were there no whores in Gondor?

Dernhelm cleared his throat.

Merry jumped, and his ears went red.

"Ah." Lord Faramir turned around. "Greetings, Lady Éowyn. We were just discussing mushrooms."

"And seashells", Dernhelm could not resist to add.

For a short moment, the Steward's expression was shocked, then he schooled his face. "Indeed. Merry, I believe you promised to give me your favourite recipe for mushroom soup."

Merry? How could the insolent man use this nickname when ... when Merry had, in all likelihood offered. Hobbits were like that. Way too trusting. Dernhelm clenched his jaw.

"Oh! Of course, thank you for reminding me. First, you need butter and onions ..."

"You use butter? I find I prefer lard. It doesn't burn as easily over a campfire."

"You can use lard, of course, but butter has this delicate taste ... Hobbits don't usually cook on campfires."

"Of course. Please continue."

Merry continued to describe the recipe. When he was finished, he turned to Dernhelm. "You have been awfully quiet. Don't you have a preferred way to make soup?"

"I don't cook."

"What, not at all?" The Hobbit stared at him with a shocked expression. "I mean, I know you don't have to, like, of course you have servants, but ... not at all?"

Éowyn had cooked. Had spoonfed her ailing uncle his meals. Had been accosted in the kitchen by Wormtongue, who accused her of poisoning the meals, merely seeking an excuse to press his filthy, stinking body to ...

But that was the past. Dernhelm did not cook. At all. "Not at all."

"I imagine the two of you have much to talk of. I shall leave you to it."

Before Dernhelm could come up with an answer, the Steward had already walked away, and was now looking at the greens that would, eventually, develop lilac blossoms. Crocuses, he had explained. How he could see that in the indistinctive green, Dernhelm had no idea.

"Very polite man, isn't he?"

"I ... suppose so?"

"No, really. And it's all natural, not like some people back at home, who ... who just learnt a book of good manners by heart. You know? He noticed you didn't have anything to say, and, well, he would't intrude on us talking about Rohan."

"You think so?"

"Oh, certainly! We talked all morning, so I can't imagine I suddenly bored him. Fara is never bored, he's really interested in, well, all kinds of things!"

Fara? What kind of familiarity was this? "For how long have you known him?"

"Not so long. Well, he visited me when I was abed, of course, but just to say some things about thanking me for helping defend the city, and such. We only really had the opportunity to talk today."

He had visited Merry? Then why not Dernhelm? Not that Dernhelm would have cared for his company. "

"And you already nicknamed him?"

"I told him to call me Merry, and he offered that I could nickname him, too, as it would otherwise not be fair. He's really different from ... from his brother." Merry's shoulders sank. "I still can't believe that Boromir is ... that he will not come back." He glanced towards where the Steward stood. "Poor man. I miss Boromir awfully, can't imagine how it must be for him."

"We all lost relatives in this war." And surely, the Steward had gotten off lightly, only losing one brother.

"Well, yes, but ... it must be diffcult. To know that his father tried to kill him."

"I had not heard of that."

"He hasn't told you?" Merry shot him a questioning look. "Huh. Well, perhaps the pain was too fresh those past days. He came back wounded, you know, and he was unconscious, and his father thought him dead."

"Dead?"

"The Black Breath. You know, makes one awfully pale. You yourself ... anyway. His father put him on a funeral pyre and was just about to set it on fire when they managed to stop him. And ... and ..." Merry swallowed. "Burnt himself. Denethor, that is. The old Steward."

All this, and Lord Faramir had not thought it necessary to tell him, in all these hours they had spent together? But immediately told the Hobbit when he met him? "Kinslaughter? I did not think the Men of Gondor would stoop so low."

"Oh! You mustn't think that! He was out of his mind, Denethor was", Merry whispered. "Thought he had lost both his sons."

"Yet there was no worm at his court, pouring poison into the Steward's ears." They were weak, those Men of Gondor.

Merry shrugged. "I don't know. Pip hinted that there might have been some bad influence, but ... I suppose we shouldn't talk about that. All secret." He stared at the Lord Faramir for awhile, then turned back to Dernhelm. "Talking of secrets, your brother told me to call you Éowyn."

Dernhelm flinched. "Yes. He said to keep up the pretense while in the Houses of Healing. I do not like it one bit, but he is right. We cannot trust those Men of Gondor."

"You think so? Perhaps not, but I'm sure we can trust Fara. Why don't you tell him?"

"He would not understand. Few do."

"Well, I suppose so, but I do understand, don't I? And he is much wiser than me. You know what I mean."

"Older, perhaps. Not wiser."

"It is up to you, of course." Merry glanced at the Lord Faramir once more. "I for my part think he is trustworthy."

* * *

Being a vegetarian, I have never used lard in cooking, and I have found contradicting statements on how much heat those respective fats can stand. So I hope this is correct.


	3. Chapter 3

It was even harder now to avoid the Lord Faramir, for Merry was scarcely seen without him, and Dernhelm had not the heart to ignore the Hobbit.

Winter came back with icy teeth, and Dernhelm was glad to have a good coat.

Merry, on the other hand, often shivered.

"You are cold", the Lord Faramir noted as they walked on the walls, where there was an icy wind.

"It's nothing compared to Caradhras", Merry replied. "Though come to think of it, I was miserable then. And the Black Breath seems to ... to linger."

"Take my coat." Without waiting for an answer, Faramir took it off and held it out.

"Oh! That's very nice of you, but ... won't you be cold?" Merry asked, even as he stepped closer to allow Faramir to drape the garment around his shoulders, folding it so it would not drag on the floor.

"I do not freeze easily." They stood there for a while, looking to the east where the host was a cloud of dust in the distance.

Dernhelm noticed a noise. Moreover, a noise that seemed to come from Faramir. It sounded very much like the chattering of teeth. Weakling.

"Here, take my coat."

Faramir froze, which enabled Dernhelm to put the cloak around his shoulders and fasten the clasp. His fingers brushed the clammy skin of Faramir's throat as he did so.

"Thank you. You are right, it is rather too cold to dwell here", Faramir said after a while. "Let us venture back inside, it should be about time for lunch, anyway."

"My stomach agrees", Merry replied, and set about to walk down the stairs, holding the cloak up in front to not stumble over it.

The next day, Dernhelm could not find Merry anywhere, and, at last, was informed that the Hobbit was in bed with a cold.

So he went to the gardens, where strangely enough, there was no sign of Faramir. Well. It was not as though Dernhelm needed anyone to keep him company.

He went up to the walls and gazed east.

When his face was cold and his hands freezing, he turned to venture back inside, and to his surprise found Faramir standing nearby.

The Steward bowed when Dernhelm passed him. "Merry says to send his regards. He is abed with a bad cold; but is confident that he will recover soon."

"Thank you."

"You are welcome." He turned to leave.

"What is your favourite weapon?", Dernhelm asked on an impulse.

"The bow. Yours?"

A coward's weapon, no wonder. "The sword. Why would you prefer the bow?"

Faramir turned once more, facing Dernhelm. "Many reasons. A new one is easily fashioned from the materials available. It is not only a weapon of war, but also of hunting. And, related to that ..." A little, half-smile appeared on his face. "It is easier to train with a bow, and one does not risk hurting a sparring partner."

"Any sparring partner worth his salt will not allow you to hurt him. And if he gets some bruises, not complain."

"I can see why you would think so." He stepped towards the battlements, placed an arm on the stone and looked at the land stretching out below. "Yet in Gondor, we do not measure someone's worth only in his ability to win a fight. And the life of a friend is valuable to me, whether or not he failed to block an attack of mine."

"And I said nothing of someone's worth in general. Just ... his worth as a sparring partner. You need to pick someone who matches your skill."

"And I do, for a war cannot be won with the bow alone. Yet you asked my favourite weapon, and it is the bow." His hair danced in the chilly wind, like raven's wings under the dark sky.

He must be cold, with his neck not covered by the cloak, as he wore the hood pushed back.

"You did not ask why I favour the sword."

"I need not. It seems a reasonable compromise between the desire to rip the enemy's throat open with your teeth, or their head off with your bare hands, and the need to avoid infection with their diseases. Or, perhaps, to not have to use a toothpick after each fight."

Dernhelm chuckled. "And, of course, armour would blunt my teeth."

"There is that."

The chilly wind drew all warmth from Dernhelm's face, and his lips felt numb, yet he could not make himself leave. There was something, something important ...

"Have I thanked you for giving me your brother's cloak?"

"I cannot recall. It matters not, you would have done the same for me."

Suddenly, the sense of foreboding grew stronger, and there was a commotion in the east. Motionless, they both gazed at what was happening. There was no doubt in Dernhelm's heart that this was the end.

Faramir agreed that this was the most likely outcome, but said that his heart was filled with hope. He also spoke of having won something he did not want to lose, yet what this was, he did not say, and Dernhelm did not probe. If Faramir wanted him to know, he would say it plainly.


	4. Chapter 4

Anthi35: Well, whether this is _normal_ would be a matter of some debate. Not normal as in _uncommon_ , or not normal as in _wrong_? As for suffering from some kind of trauma, I think we can safely assume that most people in this fic suffer from some kind of it - what with all those dead relatives and friends and all. Thanks for reviewing!

* * *

In the following days, they oft talked of war and of weapons, and though Faramir had no love for those, nor for songs of death and glory, he was knowledgeable enough.

They stood on the wall, and there was a taste of frost in the air, still, when Dernhelm finally dared ask:

"You lost your father in this war?"

"Not in the war as such", Faramir said quietly. "No, he died not upon the battlefield, and you would find little honour in the manner of his death."

Dernhelm stepped closer, and by chance, his hand brushed that of Faramir. It was chilly, almost as stone.

"Perhaps not. Yet there is honour in choosing death, in some circumstances." Was it the Black Breath that made Faramir's hands so cold?

"Maybe – Merry told you?" Faramir made no motion to withdraw his hand.

"He did not think it to be a secret."

"It is not. Just not something I would have chosen to burden you with." His voice was level, betraying no emotion.

"Burden me with? Do you think me frail?"

"Frail? No. Let me phrase it differently, I just did not want to lose your respect by complaining about it."

Still Faramir did not withdraw his hand, and Dernhelm took it in his, to rub some warmth into it.

"I never expected to be Steward", Faramir said after awhile. "It would have suited me better than Boromir, but he was the eldest."

His hand was callused as might be expected, but still soft on the back of the hand. "And you could not have switched places?"

"Not without making everyone else believe that I am the eldest – and our ages differ far too much for that. It is tradition, and that is not easily flouted."

"So you would have remained Captain of the Rangers for all your life, never to rise above that position?"

"Not inevitably. I could have married the daughter of a noble house, and many honours could come with that."

Faramir, married? It seemed a strange thought. Perhaps because he seemed so much like a gelding ... no, that was not it. He just did not seem destined for ... "Yet you did not?"

"I believe my father was waiting for the time when such an union would have proven most useful."

"And you?"

"I was content enough. A young man has dreams, but as I never fell in love, it was not a pressing matter to me."

Gelding.

"I admit that I do not know what the people of Rohan think of arranged marriage. I read it is abhorrent to the Elves, and with good reason. Is it the same for you?"

"There are those who are happy enough to have a marriage arranged for them. I am not one of those." Dernhelm hesitated. Could Faramir be trusted? "When I was born I was mistaken for a maiden."

"Mistaken?" Faramir turned to face him, and his hand slipped out of Dernhelm's grasp.

"Mistaken. For all that my dick is smaller than other men's, and my chest fuller, my mind and heart have ever been that of a warrior. I myself only became fully aware of it when I was told to stay behind with the women and children. That is not my place."

Faramir blushed, then paled. "You mean to say that you are a man?"

"I am. Call me Dernhelm when we are alone. My brother did not tell anyone, for he thought it safer."

"Dernhelm, then." Faramir swallowed. "I see."

There was something queer in his expression, and Dernhelm could not make out what kind of emotion it was. "What do you see?"

Faramir schooled his expression. "Why you always flinched when I adressed you as Lady. Forgive me, I did not know better. Lord Dernhelm. You have given me much to think about." And he bowed, turned and left, his steps faster than they had ever been before.

Dernhelm watched him go, rooted to the spot by sheer surprise. This was very much not the expected reaction. Disbelief would have been expected. Anger, perhaps. Yet this – acceptance, and then ... why? If he could accept it so easily, as he had done, then why flee?

When finally Dernhelm found himself able to move again, Faramir had disappeared inside the houses.

And he remained unfindable the whole day.

In the evening, Dernhelm again had to endure the humiliation of being undressed by vapid, idiotic women.

"Have you seen Lord Faramir this afternoon?", he asked, to at least get some information out of this.

"Oh! No, I have heard he sat with the halfling for a couple of hours. Did you want to ask him something, my lady?"

So he had talked to Merry. Probably to understand things better. No reason to be worried."No, nothing in particular. Only if there is news from ... from my brother?"

"I am sure he would tell you immediately if there were any news, my lady. He is a very considerate man."

The other woman muttered something in a language Dernhelm could not understand.

"What do you say?" He glared at the woman.

"Oh, just that ..." She giggled. "He is also very handsome."

"Hush! Shall the Lady Éowyn think you a wanton strumpet? Forgive her, my lady, she doesn't know better."

"I have heard worse", Dernhelm remarked drily.

When they had left, he pulled the bed's covers over his body and closed his eyes.

Was Faramir handsome? Well, those grey eyes were remarkable. And those soft, sensual lips ... not exactly manly, but ...

Dernhelm turned to the other side. Where did those thoughts come from? Faramir was a gelding, there was no passion in him, no ... and yet, perhaps this gelding desired no mare, but to be mounted by another stallion?

Would he enjoy calloused hands on his firm buttocks? Chapped lips on his exposed throat? His wiry body, would it be soft and pliable under another man's touch?

Dernhelm's hand slipped under his nightshirt. Oh yes, he could very well envision this ... soft, sensual lips opening, moaning a name ...


	5. Chapter 5

Anthi: Éowyn/Dernhelm is shaped the same way as in canon. Could in theory get pregnant. The difference is in the mind. I don't want to discuss this too much, as it could spoil future chapters. ;)

* * *

"Dernhelm!"

He started and spun around. "Oh, Merry, it's you."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you. I have a letter for you."

"From my brother?"

"I'm afraid not. But, look for yourself. There's also those books."

There were three books – one of Rohirric poetry, one on warfare and weapons, and one on herb-lore. The accompanying letter was by Faramir.

"Oh! Thank you! You are recovered now?"

Merry nodded. "I feel so silly! I should have gone inside earlier, or, maybe, told Fara that I'm cold. But it is hard, you know, if one is always the weakest member of any group, and always the first to need a break." He grimaced. "And the worst is, when Fara noticed, he wasn't even condescending, so I have gone and gotten sick all for naught."

"Perhaps not wholly so. We talked of weapons he and I."

"And you told him that you want to be called Dernhelm! That's great, you see, it's obvious that means a great deal to him."

"It does?"

"Oh, he was all like how much of a compliment this is, and how honoured he feels that you trust him so, and how he values your friendship. I cannot really put it in the same words he did, but he was very ... very moved, I think that may be a good word for it."

Dernhelm nodded, taking the books from Merry, and they set out towards one of the garden benches.

"Can I borrow the one on herb-lore?"

"Of course." They sat down, and Dernhelm unfolded the letter.

"Lord Dernhelm,

duty calls, and I can postpone it no longer. There is much work to do after the battle, much to prepare for the return of the king. As I will not be able to keep you company in the foreseeable future, I send you the only books I could find in my library that will hopefully be of interest do you. I hope they will keep the boredom at bay until your shield-arm is healed.

Faramir."

"Until my arm is healed? That's a long time. What did he say when you talked to him?"

"Something about a lot of work having been neglected for a long time. Seems he's really drowning in work, he didn't even give me that letter himself, it was inside another letter. He asked me to give you this, so that he could get away with addressing it to Dernhelm."

"Very considerate indeed ...", Dernhelm murmured.

The poetry book was awful. Poems that should have been chanted by a bard sat there, in a prison of parchment and ink.

Dernhelm soon turned to the book on warfare. That one proved much more interesting, though also strangely lifeless.

"How is that herb-lore book?"

"Oh! It's great! There's little notes scribbled on the sides. I think it's Fara's handwriting. Or at least there's some of the same things in the notes that he told me."

Merry kept the book on herb-lore for a long time, and when he finally returned it, Dernhelm had read through the book on warfare, and was almost through with the poetry.

He saved the books for evenings, when he could not talk to Merry, but had to lie in bed, wide awake from too much sleep.

Merry had been right, the notes must be by Faramir, for when reading them, Dernhelm could almost hear his gentle voice.

How come he missed that voice so? Faramir had insulted him almost immediately after they met ... but somehow, that seemed long past.

The book on herb-lore bore much more traces of use than the other two, it was almost falling apart. Did that mean it had been read more often?

Dernhelm often idly wondered at this, but did not really dwell on it until he had read all the books through.

When he sat, again, on the garden bench, in the first spring sunshine, idly thumbing through the book on warfare, it occurred to him that the linen cover might have been changed at some point in time.

It felt different from the other books, too. While those were hard, the wood under the linen obvious, the book on warfare was somewhat soft, as though there was something between wood and linen.

Looking more closely, Dernhelm found that there was an opening in the book's cover, like someone had cut the linen at the upper edge. Perfect for looking what was in there – perhaps some leather?

It felt more like parchment, and peeking inside, Dernhelm could see it was written on.

What was this? A secret document? Dernhelm was intrigued. The cut in the linen was old and frayed, and full of dust, so it could not be recent, perhaps hidden before Faramir had even owned the book, but the secret might still be relevant.

It needed some folding and pulling, but finally, the parchment yielded and Dernhelm could pull it out without widening the cut in the linen. No one would notice, not at first sight, at least, that something was missing.

Disappointment was quick to follow: It seemed to be a historical account, the story of some archer called Gem and his adventures. Frequently, parts were crossed out.

Dernhelm scanned the text for anything interesting. There! A war with Rohan was mentioned! That was most strange, for even if such a war would have been omitted from the written history of Gondor, surely the bards of Rohan would remember such a war in recent history!

Apparently some men of Gondor had started the war with an unwarranted attack ... ah! Now that would explain why it was forbidden knowledge!

Still, strange that no one remembered ...

Gem did not seem so very keen on fighting, staying behind with some children he had hidden in the forest, protecting them.

His arrows were spent and he was just in the process of making new ones when a lone shieldmaiden approached the hiding place ... a shieldmaiden! They were the stuff of lore! While some persistent women might manage to be taught some swordfighting, they were never allowed to ride out to war!

It must indeed be a very old account! So then it being lost made sense. And Dernhelm had always suspected that the bards had taken care to forget rather more about shieldmaidens than they forgot about everything else, as the men of Rohan were not keen on women being inspired to ride to war.

The young archer left his hiding place, meaning to lure the shieldmaiden away from the children he protected.

When he finally confronted her, he lost his dagger by virtue of it sticking in her shield. Dernhelm frowned. Why would one block a dagger attack with a shield, when one had a sword and such could keep the enemy at distance? But then, accounts of battle were often exaggerated, and as the only people who could contradict it tended to be dead, no one cared ... oh! This account would end with a dead shieldmaiden.

Dernhelm hesitated. He had been so excited to find a shieldmaiden mentioned that he had little desire to see her die.

Yet he was no coward. He would read on.


	6. Chapter 6

_"_ _Spare me, I beg you!" Gem looked upon the shieldmaiden, and found her fair even in her fury. "Enough blood has been spilt in this war! I would not have fought, had you not attacked first!"_

 _"_ _I have no desire to spill thy blood", the maiden said, laying her sword aside and grasping his shirt-front with her hand. "Thou art a comely youth, it would be waste indeed to kill thee." And she ripped his shirt apart with her hands, leaving him bare to the touch of her callused hands._

 _"_ _My lady!" Gem gasped. "It is not proper to ..."_

 _He was silenced by a strong hand on his mouth. "Why would I care what is proper in Gondor?"_

 _Try as he might, opening his mouth only made his lips graze against her rough hands, and soon, she had both his hands pinned to the ground with her sword-hand._

 _Her touch on his mouth became a caress, and his lips willingly opened to welcome her fingers._

Dernhelm felt heat pool deep in his belly. He was glad his dick was so small, for otherwise it would have surely shown.

Could this truly be an account of historical events? Surely, no one would feel the need to go into this much detail?

And yet ... it was intriguing.

 _She brushed aside a strand of his dark hair, leaving a wet trail on his cheek in the process. "No, spill thy blood I will not, though perhaps I can make thee spill something else?" And she placed a kiss on his exposed throat._

 _He squirmed under her, yet could not speak until she removed her hand from his face to pull down his breeches._

 _"_ _My lady, I will submit to your every desire, but surely you cannot wish to get with child by me?" And heat rose in his cheeks, for he knew it was not proper to broach such topics with a lady._

 _"_ _Never fear, my maidenly virtue is in no danger", she said, and she threw her head back and laughed._

 _She caressed his chest with her callused hands, idly toying with his nipples before, in one, swift movement, she turned him around, so that he lay with his face on the ground._

 _He felt her hot breath on his neck when next she spoke._

Dernhelm closed his eyes and took a deep breath. A shieldmaiden. This was a shieldmaiden, not Wormtongue. A fair and valiant shieldmaiden, not a lowly worm.

And it was so very intriguing ...

 _"_ _Thou art fair to behold, even from the back." He felt the touch of her lips on his naked shoulder, and shuddered when her fingers grazed his upper leg._

 _"_ _You ... you will dirty your hands", he begun, but his protests faltered as he felt her rough hands spreading his legs apart. Her fingers entered him, and he trembled with desire, wishing that she would never stop._

Dernhelm clenched his legs. He felt a certain dampness in his undergarments, but could not bring himself to stop reading.

 _Yet she stopped, and for a while, he feared she might leave. Then he heard her sheathe her sword, and a moment later felt cold metal touch the insides of his legs._

Dernhelm stared at the text. Was this going where he thought it was?

 _The hilt of her sword entered him slowly, and aflame with desire, he cared not what ridiculous spectacle he must be to an onlooker, for -_

"Is that what I fear it is?"

Dernhelm looked up and gazed into Faramir's face. He was paler than usual, and there were deep shadows under his eyes. The work must be taxing indeed.

There was but a split second to decide on a course of action. Dernhelm decided to be straightforward. "You mean the parchment that was hidden in the cover of this book? That it is."

"Dear Elbereth! I never – I ... I must apologize for ..." He was not so pale anymore, as a 'heat rose in his cheeks' so to speak, and he went rather pink.

"What for? I am not a fragile flower, I am a Rider of Rohan, and much more rude words have I heard at the warriors' campfires than this contains."

Faramir took a deep breath. "I am glad you see it that way", he replied after some hesitation. "And are not offended, as I myself am deeply ashamed to have taken the ancient history of your people and used it for ... for ... this. In my defense, I was but a lad of seventeen summers when I penned this, and would not do so anymore."

He had written this himself? He had ... Dernhelm decided that attack was the best defense. "I am not offended. It is an ... interesting tale. If you need inspiration for further artistic endeavours, perhaps you would be interested in the fact that two male Riders will often share a bedroll for comfort before a battle. Or after a battle. Or inbetween battles."

Faramir avoided his gaze. "Thank you, but ... I do not think I will have the time to write much in the near future."

"What a pity. Well. Can I borrow this? I must find out whether Gem survives."

"Gem?"

"The young archer."

"Ah, yes. He does survive. Live happily ever after, I remember that. Now, are you sure you do not want me to destroy this? I certainly would not like for your brother, Éomer King, to see this, and infer that I ... well ... do not have the highest respect for the virtue of the women of Rohan, so to speak ..."

"Her maidenly virtue is in no danger, she said that herself. Besides, I will tell no one who the author is."

"Thank you." He did not seem convinced.

"My brother knows that, had you intended an insult, you would have used less words to make your point."

"Probably. Please put it away – Merry will be here soon, and he knows my handwriting."

Dernhelm shoved the parchment back into its hiding place, where it now didn't sit as smoothly anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

Dernhelm shoved the parchment back into its hiding place, where it now didn't sit as smoothly anymore.

And not a moment too early. He had only just put the book back where it rested on his lap, when Merry came round the corner.

"Hullo! You've been looking for me?"

Faramir turned to greet him with a bow. "How are you? Were the books I sent you to your liking?"

"I liked them all a great deal, but they're just books, not people to talk to. And you gave Dernhelm the only one you've written in."

"Forgive me. I did not think you would prefer my scribbling to the writings of much more learned women and men."

"Oh, don't worry about that. I borrowed the book on herb-lore as soon as I got the chance, of course. You know, I'm not a scholar like Frodo, I prefer the company of living people. Reading your scribblings, as you like to call it, is much more like reading a letter, if you get what I mean."

"You have also sent Merry books, Lord Faramir?" Dernhelm inquired. Why had Merry not told him?

"Oh! I didn't think you'd want to borrow them!" Merry blushed. "They were just books on cooking, and I figured you wouldn't be interested in them."

Dernhelm rose, placing the book on warfare in the sling his shield-arm was in. "You read books on cooking for entertainment?"

"Sure! It's fascinating, how different everything is to what I know from the Shire! And of course, some meals are the same, but aren't called the same. Especially with mushrooms. They have lots of different names." Merry looked up at Dernhelm. "You aren't cross with me that I didn't offer to lend them to you, are you?"

"Of course not. You were right, they wouldn't have been interesting to me."

Soon, Faramir and Merry were engaged in a conversation on cooking, and Dernhelm watched them silently.

The Steward was a handsome man, yet his mien was too earnest, his bearing too formal – it just did not fit with what he had just revealed, that he had written this tale of a young archer who was ... ravished by a shieldmaiden.

He had been very young then ... could he have changed so much?

Though he had blushed most becomingly when confronted with Dernhelm's discovery of his writings.

One must have extensive knowledge of the ways that men could pleasure each other to have written this piece, too ... to think that under this cool and controlled surface there was a man who ...

"Lord Dernhelm?"

He gave a start. "Yes?"

"You seem deep in thought. I had asked how you liked the book on herb-lore. It is not in your usual range of interests, but since I had so few books suited to your tastes, I thought that perhaps ..."

"I liked it very much. Thank you for taking the time to send it to me – and the other books."

Faramir waved his hand dismissively. "Think nothing of it. I know how boring it is to be confined to the Houses of Healing."

"And yet your newly acquired freedom does not speed your recovery."

"What makes you think so?"

"You don't look well", Merry pointed out, sparing Dernhelm the answer. "And you try to sound more cheerful than you really are."

Faramir did not answer immediately. "That may be so", he said at last. "Those are bleak times, and it helps not to wallow in misery. It behooves a Steward to set a good example for his people. Not many are as perceptive as you are, my friend."

"Bleak times? People are celebrating!" Dernhelm cried.

"Victory has come at a price." The Steward's face was now a mask, devoid of all emotion.

"Oh! I'm sure Dernhelm didn't mean that you oughtn't be sad!" Merry hastened to say. "Just ... just we're your friends and we are worried for you!"

"And I appreciate your kindness. You need not fear that I work too much; there will soon be celebrations, and I will be expected to attend them. There will be much time to sit idle."

"Sit? If they know how to celebrate here, then I should think you will be out of breath with dancing! If you want to dance, that is, but I have a feeling that you won't, and that it will be all the more strenuous to pretend to be happy."

"In that you are right. Yet it cannot be avoided, lest people attribute my sour face to the return of the King, and think I hold a grudge against the man who saved my life."

Merry huffed. "If they do that, they're stupid."

"People tend to be."

Dernhelm cleared his throat. "Faramir, I ... I did not mean ... I was just worried." He placed a hand on Faramir's arm. "You seem more sombre than you did days ago, when the future was uncertain."

"Maybe my heart was lighter when it seemed there would be an end to ... to all pain."

Merry was the first to speak after a shocked silence. "You scare me! Please, you must go see a healer. This is not ... not ... "

"I shall. Immediately, for I can ill afford to lose more time if I am to take your advice and rest more." He knelt, grasping Merry's shoulders. "I am sorry to leave again so soon, and will make sure to send you a letter soon." He hugged the Hobbit. "Goodbye, for now."

He then stood and turned to Dernhelm. "Lord Dernhelm, maybe our paths will not cross again ere you return to Rohan. Farewell."

Dernhelm extended a hand, but Faramir stepped back and bowed. "I hope that there will be good news for you", he said. "The messengers should soon arrive. Goodbye."

And he turned and walked away.

Merry stared after him. "Huh. That was fast. I hope he really goes to see a healer."

"Yes ..." Dernhelm shook his head. "Have I angered him in some way?"

"No, he didn't seem angry."

"Why then be so curt in his leave-taking?"

"You hurt him." Merry frowned. "You can be a bit blunt at times." He fell silent, and Dernhelm didn't have much to say either.

"You know, now that I think about it ..." Merry scratched his curly head.

Dernhelm tapped his foot. "Now that you think about it, what?"

"Oh, it is probably nothing, but when he talked to me, that day before he took up his duties as Steward, he was all Lord Dernhelm here, Lord Dernhelm there."

Dernhelm felt a surge of joy. Lord Dernhelm. Now, that sounded way better than 'Lady Éowyn'. That Faramir would speak thus even with Dernhelm absent ...

"Only, you call him Faramir, so ...?"

It took Dernhelm a moment to understand what Merry meant. "You think I offended him? By not adressing him with his title?"

"Well, no, I just –"

He fell silent when they both saw one of the healers approach. "Lady Éowyn!"

Dernhelm flinched at the hated words.

"Hullo Ioreth!" Merry smiled. "Can we help you?"

"I hope so. You have spent much time with the Lord Faramir, have you not?"

"What happened?" Merry cried. "Is he ...?"

"In danger? No, fear not. It is just that he was recovering so well, and now, suddenly, this steep decline. I tought you might know of something that might have agitated him, and that he himself does not remember, or deems not significant."

With a guilty conscience, Dernhelm remembered the parchment hidden in the book that he carried in his sling. Certainly, Faramir would not want that revealed, even to a healer.

"Well, one of us might have said something insensitive about people celebrating in the streets, you know, and he has lost his whole family ..." Merry shook his head. "But that can't have been it, that was just now, and he already looked so bad when he came here."

"Did you notice something, Lady Éowyn? You were with him when it happened – whatever happened in the east."

"He knew at once that it was not the end, but a sign of hope." Dernhelm frowned. "No, that cannot have been it. I recall nothing that could have caused it, but his return to his office. If you want my advice, I will say you should keep him here in the Houses of Healing. He seems overworked."

"That was what I said, my Lady, and what the warden also said, but we cannot order the Lord Faramir to stay when he would rather not. Were he ill with fever, then we might dare, for then we could be sure of his approval once his senses return. Yet now, he seems to be well aware of his surroundings, and of everything, and still, he will not stay."

What! He had released himself, when he had refused to order the same for Dernhelm?

"It worries me a great deal", the woman prattled on. "The Lord Faramir was always so sensible and patient, always heeding healers' advice when others would not do so."

"Perhaps there is some emergency to do with his Stewardship?", Merry suggested. "That would explain why he is so busy all of a sudden. Though it is strange that he did not tell us."

"Strange indeed. I would have expected him to seek a compromise. To work only as much as he must."

They were interrupted by a messenger who brought letters from Cormallen, and confirmed Dernhelm's hopes: Éomer was alive, and asked him to come.

"This is joyous news indeed!" Dernhelm balanced the letter on his splinted arm and broke the seal.

There was nothing new in the letter, nothing that the messenger had not already said, except a note at the end, cautioning Dernhelm to not demand men's clothes for the travel.

Merry whooped in delight. "Frodo and Sam are alive! Why, I never would have dared hope!" He scanned the letter. "Oh, and they want me to come, too!"

Dernhelm waited while Merry re-read the letter. "Yes, that's about it, but of course put in much finer words. Mistress Ioreth, we can go, can we? I'm recovered, I reckon, and De- Éowyn is too, except for the arm, and that won't heal for quite a while."

The healer smiled sheepishly. "I see no reason why you should not. If there is any relapse, the king will be right there."

"Splendid! Thank you! Now, if you will excuse me, I must pack, even though I don't really have much to carry!" Merry hurried towards the houses, and Dernhelm followed him in a more dignified, yet quick pace, smiling at the Hobbit's happiness.

They were already inside, and about to part ways, as the healers wouldn't let Dernhelm into the quarters reserved for males, when Merry suddenly halted. "Oh! With us both gone, who will look after our new friend?"

"No doubt, Faramir has many friends in this city", Dernhelm mumbled.

"He never mentioned any! I suppose they've all gone to war? He's of an age where his friends would - Oh – quick!" Merry pointed at some floor-length curtain, and Dernhelm stepped behind it, not a moment too early. Heavy footsteps approached.

He had already been chastised once, like an unruly child, about being too close to the men's quarters, and did not desire a repetition. Thanks to Merry's quick thinking, the healers walked past.

Their conversation would not have much interested Dernhelm, had ne not heard the name Éowyn in it. There, he started to listen.

"... there. No wonder the Lord Faramir has gotten worse, his hopes are smashed, seeing as she now has the chance to snatch up a king!"

"Surely a king can do better than a barbarian from the north."

"Barbarian, maybe, but her face is fair enough, even though she's got not arse or tits to speak of. And the sister of a king, too. Besides, have you heard that she begged him to be allowed to come with him? Begged! Threw herself at him, she did. He might take pity on her ..."

"Dernhelm?" Merry looked up at him with a worried expression.

"I'm ... I'm alright." He just trembled with barely suppressed anger. "Though I think I shall not leave the Houses of Healing yet."

"Just because of those gossips?"

"Because there is little joy to be had in celebrating a victory I had no part in. Those rumours do not help, either. And were you not worried that Faramir would be lonely?"

"I was, but surely you want to see your brother?"

"That can wait. He has not much endeared himself to me in this letter." Advising caution while Dernhelm was sick and weak was one thing, doing the same now was quite another. "I should go now."

Had Dernhelm been foolish enough to hope for more peace and quiet in the women's wing of the building, he had been wrong. The maidservants' tongues were wagging like a happy dog's tail.

"... so pale and sad! The king must have written that he'll make another man Steward!"

"Impossible! He was so kind with the Lady Éowyn when he was here. No, surely he wouldn't be so cruel! Lord Faramir has lost so much! Besides, I always thought he'd make a better Steward than his brother – may he rest in peace – his wit is much keener."

"Of course the king would be kind to a fair lady. All men are, as long as they hope to win her favour."

"Don't be silly, she was unconscious!"

"Her brother was there to witness it, and _his_ good opinion matters, too! Perhaps the Lord Faramir should ask the Lady Lothiriel to use her charms on the king."

"As if he would ever!"

They heard Dernhelm approach and fell silent.


	8. Chapter 8

Early the next morning, Dernhelm went for a walk. To his surprise, Merry was in the gardens, apparently waiting. He must have foregone breakfast for this – a most unusual occurrence.

"I have got something for you!" The Hobbit held up a bundle of cloth. "It was on my nightstand when I woke up, must have been brought somewhen during the night."

"What is it?" Dernhelm frowned. He had a cloak, and there was nothing else that he urgently required.

"I haven't opened it, but I can guess." Merry winked. "Clothes!" he whispered.

Dernhelm took the bundle, sat on a bench and opened it. There was a tunic, breeches ... no shoes, but he had been able to use the boots he had arrived in, as the Houses of Healing had not been able to provide different ones.

There was also a letter.

"Lord Dernhelm, " it read.

"Merry told me that the men in the Houses of Healing are spreading slanderous gossip about you and King Elessar, and that you have no wish to feed these rumours by rushing to the King's side now. Though surely you desire to see your kin? I think that, perhaps, with these clothes, it might be easier to remain unnoticed.

As for those gossips in the Houses of Healing, you may tell them that my cousin, the Lady Lothiriel, invited you to keep her company at her family's city-house. Enclosed is an invitation that bears the name you are known by in the Houses of Healing, in case anyone wants confirmation. My cousin of course knows about all this, and would be delighted to have you stay with her, though I assume you have little desire to do so, as of course a young Lord staying with her while her brothers and father are away would damage her reputation.

Your friend

Faramir."

"You can come with me, then?"

What would Éomer say? If he got angry, as he sometimes did when things did not happen like he wanted them to, and exposed Dernhelm in front of everyone ...

Éomer lived, and there was no harm likely to come to him on the journey, now. His letter had said that he was not wounded.

And after how King Elessar had behaved, Dernhelm was not too keen on seeing him, either. Especially after what the women had said ... was it possible that the King had lusted after what he thought to be an unconscious woman? It might just have been their overactive imagination ... still.

"I could. But I think I will accept the Lady Lothiriel's invitation." He hesitated. "Are you disappointed I will not be coming with you, Merry?"

"Well, yes, a bit. But I have been worried about Fara, and you'll be able to keep an eye on him. And anyways, we will return here, so I reckon I will see you again."

After saying farewell to Merry, Dernhelm informed the warden that he had an invitation, and desired to leave the Houses.

That the man insisted that the Lady Éowyn must be accompanied by a servant to make sure she arrived at her destination safely, was almost expected. "I will need someone to carry my belongings, anyway", Dernhelm informed him. "Where's my armour?"

"Your ..." The warden frowned. "Insofar as your personal belongings are not in your room here, they have been given to King Éomer. If you wore any item of armour to keep you safe, then he will have taken that, as you could hardly need it here, my Lady."

"Perhaps, if I had a sword, I would not need to be protected by some servant on a short walk through the city."

"My Lady, be mindful of your station! You cannot want to be seen without entourage! It would not be seemly. And I am quite sure you had no sword with you when you were brought here."

Dernhelm huffed. Probably the warden was right, Merry had said his sword had disintegrated after stabbing the dwimmerlaik. "Fine. Then it will just be those books the Steward borrowed me, and some clothes. Find me a servant who's strong enough to carry that, then."

As bad luck would have it, the servant who accompanied Dernhelm was just one of those women who had not been able to keep their mouths shut while helping him dress and undress.

Dernhelm couldn't remember if it was the one who thought the Riders of Rohan kept their chainmail on in bed, or the one who wanted Faramir to woo him. It didn't make much of a difference; Dernhelm despised them both.

And her presence thwarted Dernhelm's plans to pay a visit to Faramir instead of going directly to the Lady Lothiriel.

"So, the Lord Faramir could not be persuaded to stay in the Houses of Healing?" he asked as they walked. Perhaps Faramir was not at home at all, in which case trying to visit him would be pointless.

"Ah, so he told you! Yes, his sense of duty is so strong that he would not sit idle one hour longer than needed!"

"Sitting idle some more would do him good."

"Indeed, my Lady, but he thinks not of himself, only of Gondor and its needs."

Perhaps. Or perhaps he would be as unwilling as Dernhelm to do his duty, if his duty consisted of staying behind while others rode to glory on the battlefield.

No additional information on Faramir's present state was forthcoming. Probably the girl had only heard rumours and not seen the man herself.

Maybe he had recovered? He could not be that overworked if he had found the time to not only get clothes for Dernhelm, but also arrange this invitation ... or had he met his cousin by chance and just instructed her then?

His letter did not seem to be written in the same hand as the story that Dernhelm had perused repeatedly, so maybe he had not even done that himself, either.

Was he really that worried about being found out as the author of this? It was not as though Dernhelm had not heard much worse.

Riders of Rohan ususally did not invent an elaborate story of how things had come to pass if they wanted to accuse someone of having unnatural relations with a sheep, so if anyone looked to be offended, he would probably not even read the story to the point where one might see an insult to the virtue of Rohan's shieldmaidens.

And, having read the story a couple of times, Dernhelm was quite sure that the maiden's virtue had not been compromised. True, the couple had had a daughter, but only after the shieldmaiden had taken her quarry home and made him her husband.

In the text, she had not even taken her clothes off. Probably for the best, as the author had admitted to never having seen an unclad woman. It would, after all, not do to spoil a fine story with inaccurate descriptions.

"There we are." Balancing the books and the bundle of clothes on one arm, the servant knocked at the front door of a large house built from white marble.

The servant who opened the door seemed surprised, but invited them in. "Whom shall I announce to Lady Lothiriel?"

"The Lady Éowyn, sister of the King of Rohan. Did your mistress not inform you about the invitation?"

"She did, I was merely surprised that it should be followed so early." The servant curtseyed and left the room.

Dernhelm scanned the surroundings. There were only small windows, high in the wall, that let in just enough light to see. Easy enough to defend, and not quite what he would have expected. Perhaps those Gondorians were not all that stupid. On the other hand, it had been men who had built the house, so of course it would be practical.

The furniture was another thing entirely. Plushy armchairs and couches, wall hangings and other fripperies showed that a female lived here. A flower-like maid of Gondor, one who would be most flattered by such vacuous words on beauty as the Steward had insulted Dernhelm with on their first meeting.

"What a delightful surprise!" In the doorway stood a girl, face adorned with an obviously false smile. "Why, I only sent the invitation this morning!"

The servant had trailed after her, and now led the one who had come with Dernhelm out of the room – still carrying the books and clothes. "Where are you going?"

"Why, show her where to put your things, of course!" Lothiriel said.

Dernhelm relaxed. Of course.

When the servants had left, Lothiriel closed the door behind them and bolted it.

Dernhelm looked around. The items of pottery were much too flimsy to be used as weapons, much flimsier than the cups used in Rohan. The big silver candlestick looked promising ...

"No need to plan your escape, I just make sure the servants won't interrupt us. Not that I am not happy to see you, but my cousin told me that you would never accept my invitation."

"He wrote I was welcome to do so."

"And so you are! I just – I am alone in the house right now, with only female servants, and it would not be proper to host a man."

"No one has to know."

"The servants I can swear to secrecy, but surely you will want to leave the house?"

"I can do so at night."

Lothiriel stared at him. "Well. Well. If you say so. Would you tell me why you didn't go to see your brother, which is what all this was supposed to be about?" She removed the bolt from the door, then went to sit on the couch. "And do sit down, you're making me nervous, standing there as though you want to run out every moment."

Which was exactly what he wanted to do. With a sigh, Dernhelm sat down in one of the chairs. "There is a lot of gossip."

"There always is. And I thought there was no gossip about Dernhelm." Her gaze went to the door.

So Faramir had told her his name? "Éomer asked me to wear women's clothes."

Lothiriel nodded. "Older brothers ... I must say, ever since I got word that they are hale and alive, I quite enjoy not having them around."

Of course this woman, who had lost nothing, would take her brothers for granted!

"You saw Faramir yesterday?"

"He visited, yes. Did you not meet him? I think he visited the Houses of Healing."

"Only briefly. He is very busy these days."

Lothiriel nodded. "Uncle Denethor never included him in decision-making. So now he has to go through all the documents, understand everything himself, and then he has to copy the gist of it so that the king knows what is going on."

Dernhelm could well imagine it. Faramir would sit at a desk all day, from sunrise to sunset, reading, writing ... the sheer boredom of it must be exhausting.

"Surely someone could help him with that?"

"I offered, but ..."

"You thought he would allow a woman to ..." Make a mess of it, most likely.

"You sound like my brothers." Lothiriel rolled her eyes. "I can understand written text just as well as any male. Faramir knows that. And while I don't have experience in war strategy, that's hardly neccessary now, is it? No, it's just that he'll have to know all the stuff later, anyway, so that he can talk to the King about it. Me having to fill him in would be extra work. Just for me, mind, but that's Faramir for you."

"So the rumours that the King will remove him from his position are unfounded?"

"Oh, there are rumours about that? Any particular reason why?"

"He looks pale and worried, and I heard people say that he received a letter to that effect."

Lothiriel waved her hand dismissively. "Gossip."

"They mentioned you", Dernhelm suddenly remembered. At least in that respect he did not have to suffer alone.

"Oh, did they now? What do I have to do with all of that?"

"The idea seemed to be that the King would be swayed by your beauty, to treat Faramir with more kindness."

Lothiriel giggled. "Oh, this is hilarious! If that were only half true, I would fear for Gondor! A King who is so stupid he cannot see Faramir's worth, yet is easily made to change his opinion on beholding my womanly charms!" And she laughed out loud, in a way that Dernhelm suspected was not befitting a Gondorian Lady. "You have met King Elessar. Do you really think he would – oh, how silly!"

"I have admired him for his bravery, yet he is as flawed as any mortal man." Dernhelm frowned. "When has one ever heard that a man would be moved to kindness by base desires?" Had Wormtongue be kind to Théoden for the Lady Éowyn's sake? Obviously not.

"It would depend on the man, I should think." Lothiriel smiled. "But Faramir has a high opinion of King Elessar who brought him back from the brink of death, and Faramir has a keen wit when it comes to people. When he has taken the measure of someone, then he is usually right. I do not think he has ever been proven wrong."

"Is that so? And what then, pray, does he think of me?"

"Have you asked him that?"

"When I asked him why he sought my company, he talked of beauty!", Dernhelm spat.

"Ah, yes, he mentioned that. Poor Faramir, you have thoroughly chastised him! In his defense, it is epidemic. To the extent that men will tell any woman, regardless of her looks, that she is beautiful upon meeting her. Empty flattery, and I have scolded many a man for it. I never knew Faramir to do such, I cannot imagine what possessed him!" Lothiriel shook her head. "Do tell me, do the men of Rohan never say such things?"

Wormtongue certainly had ... Dernhelm shuddered.

"Only when they mean it."

"Ah! How refreshing that must be!"

"If you wish for them to mean it, perhaps."

Lothiriel stared at him. Apparently, the idea that someone might not want to be seen as a target of male desire had never crossed her mind. "I do not care for compliments on my beauty, as it is hardly an accomplishment to give myself credit for. But on the other hand, it also does not do any harm to acknowledge that another looks pleasing to the eye?"

"Ha! That's like saying it doesn't do any harm for a Dwarf to acknowledge that your jewellery is pretty!"

To that, Lothiriel had no answer.

The room appointed to his use was rather empty, only containing a bed and nightstand, desk and chair. No books, and thankfully, no feminine fripperies.

Dernhelm took a good look at the clothes Faramir had sent him. They were of middling quality, something one of the Riders might wear to battle. Insofar as he could see, they would fit.

He would ask Lothiriel to help with changing as soon as he felt able to endure her prattling again.

For now, he could read that book on war strategy again. The parchment hidden in the cover was still in place, he noted with some relief.

Dernhelm had not been scandalized, and neither would be any Rohirrim, but if those prissy, gossiping women found out that their Steward wrote racy stories, they would have their scandal.

And a scandal was the last thing Faramir needed right now.

* * *

To the guest of October 11, 2016:

Well, everyone _thinks_ it was the proud human warrior who dealt the killing blow to the witch king, not the humble little hobbit. That doesn't have to mean that's actually true. ;)

A creature that is actually dead already doesn't have any vital organs anymore, so whether it is stabbed in the brain or the leg doesn't really make a difference, does it? So, who knows?!

To the more recent guest:

How could the Bard ever err? ;)

But hush, do you want the Emperor's guards to kill you?

It is flattering that one as well read as you also looks at my humble story - what do you think of it?


	9. Chapter 9

Reading the raciest scene again, Dernhelm wondered if such a thing was not painful ... then again, it was mere imagination, so much was clear now. He himself would be much more gentle in making love to a man ... and not rip apart a good shirt, wasting the hours of work that had gone into the spinning and weaving of fabric.

No, he would just untie the laces of Faramir's tunic, slide the garment over his head and then slip his hands under the shirt, caressing the wiry muscles. And the Steward's face would relax, the books he had strained his eyes to read would lie unnoticed on the desk as he would rest his head on Dernhelm's shoulder ...

Dernhelm blinked. It was no use fantasizing. He had to get out of this stupid dress and into decent clothes, and then he could go and visit Faramir. And then, perhaps, make those fantasies reality.

The midday meal was surprisingly good. Apparently the horrid, bland food of the Houses of Healing was not standard fare in Gondor, but rather what was deemed best for the wounded and ill.

"I had planned to practise archery in the garden. Would you like to watch?", Lothiriel asked when dessert, a kind of sweet porridge with dried fruit, was served. "I would do something else so you can join, but you don't seem to be interested in most things one can do with only one arm."

"Archery?"

"I know, you prefer the sword, but surely you are competent with the bow also. Perhaps you can give me some advice?"

"Alright." It was not as if he had anything better to do. "I would like to change clothes beforehand."

"Oh! Well, now, that is awkward. You will need assistance."

"So it seems."

Lothiriel drummed on table with her fingers. "I have no manservant here, and I could not ask my maids to do this ..."

"The women in the Houses of Healing had no problem with it."

"Ah, yes, of course." Lothiriel smiled sheepishly. "But, you see, Faramir did not tell them what he told me. It would be utterly inappropriate ..."

"Perhaps he can help me change." Now here was an idea ...

"He hardly has the time for that. No. I suppose I will have to do it." Lothiriel shrugged. "Just promise you will never tell anyone. It might compromise my reputation."

"I promise. Thank you."

The clothes Faramir had given him fit perfectly, length wise, and weren't too tight.

Lothiriel left to get changed herself, and when they met at the door to the gardens, she wore a plain blue woolen dress, leather vambraces and a leather piece that covered her left breast. She was carrying a plain longbow; made of yew and a quiver with a set of arrows with blue-dyed feathers.

"Ready?"

"As ready as I'll be." Though the bow was not his favoured weapon, he would have liked to take part in this exercise.

The target, a stag made of straw, stood before a wooden wall that covered the stone wall surrounding the garden.

"There's not as much space to practise aiming at a distance as I would like" Lothiriel explained and nocked an arrow. "As you see, I hit the target every time."

Dernhelm rolled his eyes, but when Lothiriel released the arrow, it indeed hit the stag right where the heart would be.

"Faramir has promised to take me out hunting to the countryside for practising as soon as King Elessar is crowned and all is running smoothly." Lothiriel took out another arrow. "Judging how well I hit the target is no use. How is my stance? Could I improve that? It has been a long time since I had opportunity to practise with an expert, and I'm told I fall back into bad habits when I just practise by myself."

Dernhelm watched for a while. "You bow your head before you release the arrow. That sets your aim off. It is not noticeable here, but would make you miss when shooting from a greater distance."

Lothiriel flashed him a bright smile. "Thank you! I knew I was doing something wrong. Now ..."

The next arrow hit the previous one and split it in two.

"Damn! Another arrow wasted! Ah, well, I'll keep it as trophy."

When the sun set, Lothiriel sent a servant to scout forward. Only after she had confirmed the coast was clear, as she expressed it, she allowed Dernhelm to leave the house. "Where will you go?" she asked when she put the cloak around Dernhelm's shoulders.

"Drinking. See if I can find those of my people who were too severely injured to ride with the host. Some ought to have left the Houses of Healing by now."

"I loathe to let you go out alone. Have you with you a token of your rank?"

"No."

"Then take this." She presented to him a dagger, laughably small, just long enough to pierce a heart. The handle was inlaid with precious gems. "It is a Lady's dagger, and used to belong to my aunt. You can hide it under the coat, since I assume you will not want to be seen with it - if you have to draw it, everyone shall know that you rank among princes, and to wrong you would have dire consequences."

"Those who see it will think it a token of your favour", Dernhelm mused.

"The better. Then they know you are under my protection."

Dernhelm looked at the girl. She was small, curvy and looking younger than she had stated her age. "I cannot imagine that will discourage any from attacking me."

"Let me put it like this, the man who does me wrong would never enjoy another ale in peace. I know my herbs." Lothiriel smiled sweetly. "Though a dagger is more helpful when dealing with drunks, I give you that. Speaking of which, don't get drunk. The servants won't let you in if you are incoherent."

"Understood."

His search was successful, and early in the evening, too. One Rider of the name of Folo had also had his shield-arm broken, and took this as a sign that they were destined to be friends.

Folo was from a more distant part of Rohan, and thus did not recognize Dernhelm's face as belonging to the Lady Éowyn, which made everything much easier. While Rohirrim were not nearly as particular about rank as Gondorians, surely the man would not have talked so freely to one so closely related to his King.

Such as things were, they talked freely, made lewd remarks on the waitress' backside, and laughed when said maiden slapped Folo's hand away.

Dernhelm would have got drunk, if it hadn't been for the simple fact that he didn't have enough money with him, as he had only been able to borrow a small amount from Lothiriel.

He parted with Folo on amiable terms, promising to meet again the next evening.

To his surprise, there was still light in the house when he arrived there. "The Lady Lothiriel has a visitor", the servant explained as she led Dernhelm to his room. They passed the Lady's bedroom, and Dernhelm could hear Lothiriel say in a hysteric voice "You are out of your mind!"

"I shall tell the Lady that you have returned when she retires for the night", the servant said loudly, and Dernhelm couldn't understand anything more of what was said.

So he resigned himself to not finding out what Lothiriel had gotten into hysterics about. Probably it was nothing, anyway. Though it did seem strange that she should receive visitors at this hour. Was she not as virtuous as she wanted to seem? Perhaps Dernhelm was not the only man to sneak into the house at night-time.

It would probably be no good to ask for the visitor's identity for that exact reason, so he did not. Instead, he went into his room, got rid of boots and trousers, and went to bed still clad in the, now slightly ale-stained shirt.


	10. Chapter 10

During breakfast the next morning, Lothiriel was uncharacteristically quiet.

"You had a visitor last night", Dernhelm remarked.

"Did we keep you awake? I am sorry, it was an emergency."

"Of what kind?"

Lothiriel sighed. "Oh, something to do with love. You know, the kind one falls into. It is aptly named such, as it leads to injuries. Not broken bones, but broken hearts. People ought to be more careful."

Dernhelm frowned. Faramir had mentioned arranged marriages ... "So, for yourself, you plan to have a marriage arranged for political reasons, instead of love?"

"Well, there is nothing wrong with love as such. It is the falling into it I object to." Lothiriel wrinkled her nose. "Arranged matches suffer the same inadequacies as this falling in love nonsense, namely that one can end up in an unhappy marriage. People ought to use their common sense."

"I am not sure that is possible."

"Well, they should at least try. But let us not talk of this unfortunate affair. I surmise you found an alehouse yesterday?"

Dernhelm looked down on the shirt he had slept in. "Indeed. I will go there again today, if you would be so kind as to lend me some more money."

"I am afraid I am rather short on money myself these days – it does not matter much in daily life, as my family can get credit everywhere, but ..."

Was this true, or did Lothiriel just intend to control his drinking? "It matters not, I am sure Folo will lend me enough coin do get thoroughly drunk."

"Folo?"

"A new friend I made."

"New as in, does not know you are royalty?"

"Exactly. And I would like to keep it that way."

"Borrowing money from him will make sure he will never suspect you of being related to a king." Lothiriel reached for a slice of bread. "How do you like the ale of Gondor?"

Except for watching Lothiriel practise with her bow, this day was unbearably dull. Dernhelm spent most of the day reading a book on falconry, a pastime he was sure he would never take up.

It was getting dark, and Dernhelm looked out of the window every couple of moments, to see whether he could leave yet, when there was a knock at the door of his room.

"The Lord Faramir has come to visit. My Lady thought you might want to see him."

Dernhelm leapt to his feet. "Certainly!"

The servant led him to the room he had first met Lothiriel in. Now, one of the plushy armchairs was adorned by Faramir's form. While it was a joy to see the man, Dernhelm could not help but be shocked at the change in his face.

"You look horrible!" Dernhelm exclaimed without thinking.

"Oh. I did not think you would value the trappings of my station so much", Faramir replied drily.

Only then did Dernhelm pay attention to his clothes, which were indeed simpler than he had worn in the Houses of Healing, drab brown much like Dernhelm wore at the moment.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." Faramir was pale, there were deep shadows under his eyes, and he seemed to have lost some weight. But the most disconcerting were his eyes – instead of the keen wit that usually dwelt there, there was some ... some sense of hopelessness. "You look like you still work too much."

"Don't be cross with me for that, friend, I am currently working on amending just that, am I not?"

"Are you?"

"My cousin told me that you plan to sample the local ale tonight. I should like to accompany you."

Dernhelm frowned. "Are you sure you'd not rather use the night for sleeping?"

"Sleep does not come readily to a troubled mind. The healers recommend spiced wine, but I think, ale would do just as well." Faramir regarded him with a queer look. "Unless you would rather be rid of me?"

"What? No! I was just ... if you think you are up to it, come. I was just about to leave." Damned woman! If Lothiriel had not told him that Dernhelm intended to go out, then they could have spent the night drinking here, where Faramir could fall asleep whenever he wanted.

To change plans now ... Dernhelm had made that mistake once, begging King Elessar to accompany him – and the rumours people had come up with!

Not that such rumours would be unfounded in Faramir's case, but ... he needn't know that. Yet. If he harboured similar feelings, then perhaps ... but it would be best to ascertain that first. And what better way to loosen the man's tongue than lots of ale?

"Shall we go, then?" Faramir stood up, slowly as though it cost him much strength.

"Just one thing. I pretend to be a commoner. Can we forego titles for tonight?"

Faramir gave him a weak smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Yes. Call me Fara, as Merry does. It would rather dampen the mood if your friends knew who I am, would it not?"

"Probably."

Folo welcomed Faramir with open arms, and what little distrust there might have been due to Faramir being from Gondor, it evaporated when Faramir paid for the first round.

"You have too much money?" Folo asked after his third ale. Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "You know what? If you're willing to pay for all of us, I could find us some whores."

Poor Faramir! He must be scandalized! "Whores? I don't think ..." Dernhelm started.

"I don't think there are any left", Faramir interrupted. "Has not the Steward closed all whorehouses?"

"I heard of that. Telling the whores to do something more useful in times of war! Ha, as if there was any other use for them! But I've found a place where they have Southron wenches. There's plenty of those."

"Oh? Well, I am sure I can spare some coin, if you can show me where to spend it ..."

What? Was this really happening?

Dernhelm bit the inside of his mouth. The sharp pain left no doubt, this was no dream. And there was a smile on Faramir's face, this time a true one.

They got up and left the alehouse, Dernhelm stumbling after the other two in a kind of daze.

"Something the matter, Dernhelm?" Folo asked.

"My, it looks like he's never been to a whorehouse before!", Faramir exclaimed. "Perhaps we shouldn't corrupt the poor lad."

"Corrupt? Ha! He's a Rider of Rohan, no sissy. Isn't that right, Dernhelm?"

"Right!"

"Your voice sounded like a girl's just there", Folo regarded him with a suspicious gaze.

"No wonder!" Faramir patted his back. Somehow, it felt comforting. "By the looks of it he has never even been with a woman, and you want him to mount a Southron mare for his first time. Would make anyone a bit nervous."

"There is that." Dernhelm said, now taking care to speak in a deeper voice. "I have seen what happens to a stallion who tries to get with a mare who isn't in heat ... well, women don't have hooves, but ..."

"Don't you worry!" Folo hit his back with a force that made him stumble forward. "That's what whores are for. Those are thoroughly broken fillies, nothing to fear from them."

"Fear! Nervous I might be, but let it not be said that I fear women! I would join you even if they were the wildest mares in Gondor. Let's go."

When the danger of disovery had passed, Faramir relaxed, and the smile was back on his face. Was that all that was needed to cheer him up? The prospect to get with a woman? Why then suffer so long? Faramir was a handsome man, and Éowyn could have ... no! Dernhelm did not desire to be treated like a woman, used and thrown away. The love between shield-brothers was truer and more durable.

Faramir would forget whatever whore he spent the night with as soon ast he sun rose, and he would always return to Dernhelm.

What would Faramir do with a whore? Would he ask her to tear apart his shirt and ravish him? Éowyn would not have been so averse to _that_. And she could have ...

No! He was no woman! Where did those thoughts come from, all of a sudden?

It must be due to having thought of himself as a woman for so long. Of course some adjustment period was needed.

Period. That reminded him ... oh thrice damned, weak body! It could betray him at any moment now!


End file.
